


I Need More (One Shot), One More (Two Shot)

by unweavetherainbows



Category: VIXX
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blind Character, IT KINDA (?) WORKS, M/M, Snipers, this idea sounds crazy but HEAR ME OUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unweavetherainbows/pseuds/unweavetherainbows
Summary: Taekwoon is the best sniper in Seoul, practiced at his craft and proud of it too, but absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the life-or-death decision he'd have to make on the rooftop of Seoul's highest tower. Or the chaos, courtesy of one Cha Hakyeon, that would soon follow.(A kitten-hearted sniper and his companion chase three hundred million dollars around Seoul.)





	I Need More (One Shot), One More (Two Shot)

**Author's Note:**

> i had this crazy idea - sniper!taek isn't that hard to conceive, but what if (for some reason) he ran into someone BLIND while trying to Taek (heh) a target out?  
> and neo have such a deep, incredible connection already, i've always wanted to try writing about snipers, and then, well- this hot mess was born. 
> 
> (stan talent stan vixx) also canvas is coming (!!!) and my wig is ready to be Snatched

13:48.

When people talk about cat-and-mouse games, rarely is credit given to the cat. Blind and foolish, they cheer for the placid mouse, a semi-sentient creature whose only abilities include shitting in the most inconvenient of places and being lured into death by various curdled dairies. The plateau never changes from greedy, evil Tom and poor, plucky Jerry, going round and round in circles until time ends and the universe implodes.

Ignored is the way that hot blood pumps through feline veins, a predator’s heart set alight by the thrill of the chase, each _thump-thump, thump-thum_ p igniting every cell in a prehistoric body. A lithe, natural killer, designed by evolution to eliminate the biological waste that clutters the earth. And no one wants to congratulate them for it.

The chrome steel of carbon is cool against Taekwoon’s cheek, M107 rifle clicking softly as his gloved hands adjust the scope’s knobs. He’s not fishing for compliments _-he’s not-_ but sometimes, a little congratulations would be nice.

“As if you need to be congratulated, you cocky bastard,” says the voice in his ear, more than a little exasperatedly. “You have the most confirmed kills in our division, and that doesn’t even include the ones off the record.”

Taekwoon’s lips quirk as he stands, the November wind rustling through his hair.

“You said it, not me.”

“That’s because you said it _three hundred times_ , Leo. You’re damn good, and you know it.”

 _Leo_. Taekwoon smiles wryly at the mention of his alias, dark eyes splitting into soft crescents. Latin for lion, his boss insisted that he pick one, because _names are what get you killed, Taekwoon. Make sure no one knows yours._ When a name slips out, there’s barely enough time to breathe a prayer before you’re floating facedown in the Han river, eyes gouged out so you can’t even see the fish swimming amongst the kelp below.

And well, Taekwoon had always liked cats.

He flips his wrist over, glancing at his watch. 13:50.

“How much time do I have before the target arrives?”

“Nine minutes, which is more than enough. This’ll be nice and easy- we’re in and out in less than twenty and no one even knows we were here. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”

Taekwoon crouches, gravel crunching beneath his feet as he glances down the barrel of his rifle, twisting the upward receiver into position. The view from the service deck of Seoul’s N Tower is beautiful, stunning glassy-eyed tourists and jaded locals alike, but today, Taekwoon’s not here for the skyline. He makes sure to lower his voice, because even though it’s a Thursday on the off-season, there are still plenty of people (read: _liabilities_ ) on the observation deck below him.

“You sound pretty confident for someone behind a computer, Sanghyuk,” Taekwoon says, peering through his scope. The blue surface of the Han shines in the pale afternoon sunlight, and Taekwoon’s suddenly taken back to years past, lazy summers spent frolicking in its riverbanks as his mother watched from afar. But things are different now - he’s grown up, and his priorities have changed. Men aren’t meant to play alongside the river.

“That’s because I know you, and I know what you can do. You’ve never let us down before, Leo. I don’t think that’s gonna change now.” Sanghyuk’s fingers are clacking away, and Taekwoon hears him slurp loudly, probably from a Monster or some other life-shortening energy drink. He rolls his eyes. This kid’s on track to die at thirty of a heart attack, aneurysm, or both, and the idiot has absolutely no qualms about it.

“Thanks, I guess. No pressure, right?” Taekwoon says, ruffling a hand through his shock of bleached hair. He’d had to dye it at the last minute, because the cameras at his last job had captured the back of his head before Sanghyuk, a millisecond too slow, could cut their feed.

“Well, I mean- there’s over three hundred million U.S dollars on the line here. So like, there’s pressure, but don’t think about that. Think about how you’re the best in the business, and about how you’re so getting laid after this.”

Taekwoon laughs, Adam's apple bobbing against his black turtleneck. “We’ll see about that. Since when were you a sex expert? You’re literally twelve.”

Sanghyuk huffs indignantly. “You don’t know everything about me, Leo. Where I’ve been, what I’ve done, _who_ I’ve done-”

He blanches. “You know, I could probably take you out from right here-”

Sanghyuk snorts and then chokes, and Taekwoon can just _see_ the drink spewing from his nose. His face wrinkles in disgust.

13:54. “Alright, you sexy beast. T-minus three minutes until we have a visual.”

Taekwoon kneels, positioning his rifle -who he’s affectionately named Nancy- a few metres from the edge of the building, watching clouds roll across an abandoned sky as he tweaks the optics. Usually, he’d be right up against the ledge, barrel pointed over the lip of the roof, but because Taekwoon’s shooting at a closer distance today, he needs a few metres of clearance.

Nancy’s great at what she does, easily firing an accurate shot from over fifteen hundred metres, but she has a strong recoil - meaning that unless he wants to become suddenly acquainted with the pavement below, Taekwoon needs to make sure that he has enough space to absorb the impact.

He loads the magazine, settling down to lay parallel to the roof. Propping himself up with an elbow to grasp the foregrip, Taekwoon slides his chin into the slot near the scope, squinting down the length of the barrel.

This is the part that always gets to him, when the anticipation is at its peak, fire bleeding into his heart and setting him aflame with the thrill of the hunt. Taekwoon is nowhere to be found- he only knows Leo, the predator inside of him aching for release, and he’s _ready_.

13:57. “Two minutes, Leo.”

He makes a soft noise of affirmation, flicking off the safety and staring one-eyedly into the scope. In an upscale condominium several hundred metres from where Taekwoon is perched, his target walks into a meeting room on the eighteenth floor, briefcase of stolen money clutched in one hand. At twenty-five, Kim Wonsik is much younger than Taekwoon’s usuals, but it’s fine. A job is a job, and money is money.

Time crawls to a stop, and all Taekwoon can feel is the wind whistling in his ears, the steady rhythm of his pulse, slow breaths evening out as the chatter of the tourists below fades away to nothing. The frost settles on his exposed neck, but Taekwoon doesn’t feel it as he exhales slowly, angling the mark of his scope over the head of his target.

13:58. “One minute.”

Taekwoon’s index finger slips onto the trigger, body completely still.

Three.

Two.

O-

Gravel suddenly crunches behind him, deafeningly loud, and Taekwoon’s senses come roaring to life, heart hammering as his hand shoots to the Glock he always keeps in his waistband. Shock floods his veins, because Taekwoon locked the door to the roof.

_He locked the fucking door._

He heaves himself up, whirling to point his gun at the door, every hair on his body standing on end as his heart drops to his feet.

The door is swinging off of its hinges, because it wasn’t ever locked in the first place. This means two things: 1) Taekwoon, the best sniper in Seoul, is slipping and 2) there’s someone on the roof with him.

“Leo, what’s going on? You didn’t take the shot.” Sanghyuk’s voice comes through in his ear, high-pitched and frantic. “We have forty-five seconds before our window disappears, what are you doing?”

Taekwoon says nothing, eyes darting around, searching, and- oh. There’s a man, standing on the opposite end of the roof to where Taekwoon’s set up, and he’s almost at the ledge, hovering precariously over the edge of the building. At first glance, it almost seems like his goal is to jump, and Taekwoon slaps a hand to his forehead, cursing the gods that seem to enjoy making his job a hundred times harder than it needs to be.

Great. This is just great. He’s trying to kill someone and now, in some kind of ironic twist, someone else has stumbled upon him while trying to kill themselves. Taekwoon turns away because now is not the time for a dramatic suicide, he has a _job to do_.

“Leo, our window is disappearing. We have thirty seconds. Once the mark walks out that door, we lose the money and it’s over. Stop fucking around and take the shot.”

Taekwoon’s about to head back to where he positioned his rifle, because he can deal with vaguely suicidal vagrants later (he’s got a silencer in his bag) but something the man is holding suddenly catches his eye.

A white cane.

Realization hits him like a truck, and there’s no time to ask questions, things like why the _fuck_ there’s a blind man wandering around the roof of N Tower -or how he even got up here in the first place- because the guy has an arm outstretched, cane tapping against the roof’s ledge as his feet carry him towards a four thousand foot fall.

“You’ve got _ten seconds-_ ” Taekwoon swears harshly, eyes stuck in some warped tennis match between his rifle and the poor, stupid blind man about to plummet to his death, and all he can think of is the three hundred million dollars.

“ _Take the fucking shot!_ ”

The man stumbles, cane clattering to the roof as he trips over the edge of the building, and Taekwoon’s moving before he even makes the conscious decision to, crossing thirty metres in a single breath. Lunging forward, he snatches the back of the man’s collar as his foot lands on air, mouth falling open in a shriek as Taekwoon heaves them both backwards. He watches as the cane tumbles off of the edge, disappearing from view. One second later, and its owner would have followed suit.

There’s still time. Taekwoon pushes the man off of him, sprinting across the roof to his rifle. Hurriedly throwing the scope into focus, Taekwoon searches for Kim, praying to gods that he doesn’t believe in that he’s still there - _please, please, please_ \- but it’s too late. He catches a flash of his mark’s back as he strides out of the meeting room, briefcase nowhere to be found, and then Kim’s gone, taking three hundred million dollars with him.

An animal scream of frustration escapes Taekwoon as he stands, kicking his rifle with such force that it skids across the roof, hands tearing at his hair. Taekwoon had this in the bag. It was an easy job, in and out in less than twenty. But because of his fucking feelings, because he was soft, he’d gone and shot it all to shit, three hundred million worse off. Taekwoon takes out criminals, thieves, murderers, the _bad guys_ \- he has no problem pulling the trigger when it comes to men like that. But now, his treacherous heart’s gone and betrayed him because an _innocent_ was in danger. Looking down at his hands with the eyes of another, Taekwoon doesn’t recognize himself, because killers don’t save lives, they take them.

“What the fuck happened back there? You didn’t take the shot, you always take the shot- are you hit?”

Taekwoon’s about to respond to Sanghyuk when a cough comes from the other side of the roof, shaking hands meeting gravel as the man struggles to push himself to his feet. Taekwoon groans inwardly, cursing his pathetic heart. Shoving his rifle into a nondescript duffle bag -he’ll dismantle it later- he makes his way over to the blind man. _Are you going to carry him too, you sentimental loser? Maybe a parade would suffice._

“Leo, stop worrying me. Forget the job. _Are you hit?_ ”

The guy is tan, skin warmed by a sun kinder than Seoul’s, and is clearly a tourist. Maybe he’d gotten lost on a tour, took the wrong elevator or something and wound up on the service roof instead of the observation deck. It hadn’t been that hard for Taekwoon to get up here after all, slipping past security in a repairman’s uniform and taking the service elevator to the roof.

Taekwoon helps him to his feet, alarm bells going off momentarily because oh shit, he doesn’t have his mask on- before he remembers. Taekwoon feels a little bad for being relieved.

“ _I swear to fucking god, Jung Taekwoon, if you’re hit-_ ”

Taekwoon rips out his earpiece just as Sanghyuk says his full name, throwing it to his feet and crushing it beneath a heel. His boss will be furious when he finds out that he lost the money, but that’ll be nothing compared to what Taekwoon would face if he found out that his real name slipped out too. Taekwoon’s never been a fan of water.

The man’s eyes are half closed, but they crinkle as he manages a small smile, patting Taekwoon on the chest as if to affirm that he was really there.

“T-taekwoon?” he asks confusedly, and Taekwoon’s heart sinks because _fuck, he heard it._

“You’re okay,” he says instead, steadying the guy with a hand on his shoulder. He’s just shorter than Taekwoon, limbs long and lean, designer shirt tucked into a pair of pants far too expensive for Taekwoon to even splurge on. He surreptitiously pats down his sides, because he’s already fucked up enough today and you can never be too sure.

“What happened? How did I end up on a _roof_?” The man’s wearing a nametag, courtesy of the tour group he was most likely separated from. _Hakyeon_ , it reads, and Taekwoon wants to cry at the stupid irony. It means _one who follows the water_. The Han sparkles in the distance, as if to mock him, and Taekwoon wants to flip a hundred middle fingers at it.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Taekwoon asks, taking Hakyeon’s (?) hands and guiding him towards the roof’s door. “And it’s Hakyeon, right?”

“How did you- oh, yeah.” The guy’s eyebrows shoot up briefly before coming back down, seeming to remember that he was wearing a nametag and that Taekwoon wasn’t actually a psychic. “Yeah, it’s Hakyeon.”

“I’m not actually sure how I got up here,” he continues, scratching his head with a hand. “One minute, I was about to get on an elevator with my family, and the next, I was being pushed into an elevator without them and then I almost wandered off of a freaking roof.”

Ah, so it had been as Taekwoon suspected. A lost tourist. (Thankfully, not a trap.)

Taekwoon nods, before remembering that Hakyeon can’t actually see him. “That makes sense. The service elevator and the public elevator are actually pretty close together, so they’re pretty easy to mix up even if, uh- even if you’re able to- well, they’re not brailed, so-”

“You can say it, you know. I’m not going to be offended.” Hakyeon’s eyes don’t need to be open for them to be teasing, courtesy of the bemused smile on his lips and the way they turn upward, as if he were suppressing a laugh. So long, world. Taekwoon’s had a good run. Kill him. Kill him now. “It’s not a big deal. I’m blind as fuck.”

Taekwoon barks out a surprised laugh, hoisting his bag higher over his shoulder. He opens the door, about to help Hakyeon down the stairs, when a hand suddenly shoots out to grab him by the shoulder.

“But you never said why _you_ were up here.” _Shit_. Taekwoon stills, slowly turning to face him, a thousand excuses coming to mind but none forming on his lips. What was his reason for being here again? Taekwoon wills the tiny elves that control the gears in his mind to work faster, and suddenly (thankfully) he remembers, tongue spinning lies with practiced ease.

“Oh, I’m a serviceman for the, uh, Tower. I’m just doing some repairs on the deck while it’s not crowded and busy, you know, during the off-season. Nothing special.”

Even though Hakyeon’s eyes are closed, Taekwoon gets the feeling that he’s somehow seeing right through him.

“Mhmm.” Hakyeon doesn’t sound convinced, cocking a hip in the same syllable, exuding sass in every meaning of the word. “Then why did I hear you cock a gun?”

Taekwoon’s heart drops to his feet. Killing Hakyeon now would mean that he threw away three hundred million for nothing, but it would also mean that he wouldn’t have a loose end out there that can identify him by voice and location. Taekwoon’s hand slowly, ruefully moves toward his Glock, because some people are just too smart for their own good.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, Hakyeon. Maybe it was the wind, or a bird, or something. There's no guns here.” Hakyeon’s hands are on his hips, and he raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. 

“Of course there are. You’re holding one right now.” _Fuck_. Taekwoon freezes, hand wrapped around cool metal. Hakyeon smirks.

“I may be blind, but I’m not _stupid_. I know what a gun sounds like, because the one benefit of not being able to see is that your spatial awareness and hearing become _incredibly accurate_. And because of my _incredibly accurate_ senses, I know you’ve just reached for something, which probably happens to be a gun.”

Taekwoon looks to the heavens, cursing his ridiculous fate. Why must everything in his life be so damn hard? Why can’t he have anything _nice_?

“Look, Hakyeon-” Taekwoon’s phone rings, the screen lighting up with Sanghyuk’s face from the inside of his bag, and he’s saved from punching himself in the face at the stupid irony of the phrase. Taekwoon almost declines the call, but he _did_ destroy the earpiece, and it seems that Sanghyuk’s caffeine-fueled fingers have managed to text him sixty-three times as well. In literally any other instance, he would have declined, but this has been the weirdest, most unfortunate day ever, and Taekwoon figures that he may as well just continue adding things to the list of Steaming Pile of Shit that is currently his life.

“What?” Taekwoon hisses into the phone, pressing it against his ear. One of his hands is still on his Glock, and Hakyeon is silent, still smirking. Cheeky fucker.

“Oh, great, thanks for not being dead,” Sanghyuk says dryly into his ear, voice too loud as Taekwoon winces, furiously pressing the volume button. “A text would have been appreciated, you know.”

“I didn’t have time, I’m sorry- there’s a _situation_.” At this, Hakyeon’s smirk grows smarmier and Taekwoon glances down at the hand on his gun, wishing it was free so he could punch him in the face.

Sanghyuk’s voice grows higher in pitch. “What do you mean, _a situation?_ Are you hit? Your comm cut out earlier, and I didn’t know if-”

“No, I’m not hit. I’ll explain later,” Taekwoon says, watching Hakyeon put the pieces together in his head. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Well, if you’re not hit, I just wanted to let you know that we can still get Kim. One of our recon guys just saw him get into an unmarked car, headed east towards Itaewon. He’s only got about a six-minute head start on you, so you still have a shot at finishing the job.”

This is the best possible news that Taekwoon could have received, and he’s momentarily elated before he remembers that shit, he has _baggage_ now. But this is too convenient to pass up, so he’s just gonna have to make it work.

“Thanks, Sanghyuk. I’ll let you know when it’s done.” Taekwoon ends the call, tossing his phone back into his duffle bag and zipping it up, pulling off his leather gloves and throwing them in there too. Okay. He can do this.

“So, _serviceman_ , what’s the plan?” He can’t do this.

Taekwoon rubs his forehead, and considers his options. Or he’s about to, before Hakyeon considers them for him.

“It looks like you have a problem, Taekwoon. You need to go point your gun at something and make it go bang, but you have to figure out what to do with me first.” Hakyeon smiles knowingly, and Taekwoon wonders how in the hell he stumbled upon the one blind person in Seoul that could suss out that he was a _sniper_. For what seems like the thousandth time today, Taekwoon’s struggling with his words, mouth not working fast enough.

“Hakyeon, I don't-”

“You can’t kill me either, because even though I have no doubt that guys like you could dispose of a body in the time that it would take me to shout “help”, you’d have to get past an entire building full of people first.” Hakyeon straightens up, a satisfied smile on his lips. “So that’s why I’m going to come with you!”

“What?” _What?_

“It makes the most sense, doesn’t it? You can’t kill me, but you also can’t leave me here, because I’m a liability.” Hakyeon offers out his hand to Taekwoon, and he stares down at his long, tanned fingers as if they were proffered from an alien. “Deal?”

“No, not _deal_ ,” Taekwoon sputters, and he’s not used to being flustered, he’s a sniper for chrissakes, he’s suave, great in bed (Sanghyuk just threw up from across Seoul), _he doesn’t have time for this_ -

“Do you have any better ideas?” Hakyeon looks at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow as if to say _see? I’m always right._

Rather than admit that no, he doesn’t, Taekwoon tries for a different angle.

“What will your family say? Aren’t you a tourist?”

Hakyeon waves a hand dismissively. “I brought them here while they were visiting, but they were the ones that insisted we do a stupid tour. I’m from Changwon, but I go to school in Seoul.”

Taekwoon glances at his watch, chewing on his lip as the need to _leave_ presses upon him. He doesn’t have time to fight with Hakyeon, and the little shit is right- he can’t kill him either. Fine. They’ll do it his way. Kim’s six-minute lead has increased to a nine-minute one, and the longer they stand here, the further away he gets. Taekwoon needs to get a move on.

“Fine. _Fine_. But after today, you’re getting lost and I’m never gonna see you again, okay?" Taekwoon has no idea why the hell Hakyeon’s entire face lights up at this, seemingly illuminated by the sun behind him. His skin glows, a wide smile gracing his lips, and he’s beautiful.

 _What._ Taekwoon didn’t think that. It must have been the wind, or a bird, or something. Yup. Definitely a bird.

“Okay!” Hakyeon reaches for his free hand, pumping it with too much enthusiasm as Taekwoon’s other hand frustratedly pockets his Glock, shoving it back into his waistband. In some weird mirror image, Taekwoon suddenly wants to smile too. _What the fuck? You don’t even know him._ Somehow, within the span of ten minutes, Hakyeon’s managed to _sway_ Taekwoon, something that takes everyone else at least three lattes and a few hours of pleading, _minimum_. He’s really weirded out, and he mainly just wants go home. There’s no time for that now, though. He can go home later, because now he has a job to finish.

“Okay, call your family and make up something,” Taekwoon sighs, waiting as Hakyeon pulls out his phone. It’s a big, clunky thing with huge buttons and a brailled keypad. Hakyeon pushes 1, which Taekwoon assumes is someone’s speed dial, and raises it to his ear.

“Hi mom, I’m just -yeah, I’m okay, I just had to go- well, my roommate’s locked himself out, so I’ll see you guys later- no, really, I’m fine- okay, love you too.” Hakyeon pulls the phone away from his ear, pushing it into his back pocket, smiling sheepishly at Taekwoon. “They’re a little overbearing.”

Taekwoon nods, and at Hakyeon’s lack of action he remembers that he has to actually say something. Taekwoon’s not used to talking this much, ever- his eyes speak for him and he’s always been quiet, friends and family knowing how to draw longer sentences from a mouth usually silent. With Hakyeon, he’s forced to speak up, to be conversational, and he doesn’t know how he feels about it. It’s not...that bad.

Kim’s lead has increased to eleven minutes. They need to leave, now.

“Come on,” Taekwoon says, fishing out the workman's blazer he stole from the Tower's basement out of his bag and trading it for his leather jacket, passing Hakyeon a hat. Hakyeon pulls the brim over his eyes, Taekwoon taking him by the hand and _shit_ , there are so many stairs. Hakyeon doesn’t have his cane, and Taekwoon doesn’t have time to help him down each one.

“Hakyeon, climb on.” Taekwoon bends in front of him, loping Hakyeon’s arms around his neck.

“What do you mean, what are you-” Taekwoon _really_ doesn’t have time for this. Locking Hakyeon’s hands in front of his chest, he reaches back and grabs Hakyeon’s thighs, hoisting him onto his back and wrapping his legs around his waist. It’s a tight fit, especially with the awkward bulk of Taekwoon’s bag, but they manage.

Taekwoon bounds down the steps to the floors below two at a time, ignoring Hakyeon’s shriek of surprise in his ear because _holy shit he’s way heavier than he looks_. Hakyeon’s legs tighten around his waist as he runs, and Taekwoon can feel the muscle that’s clearly there, built from years of activity.

Taekwoon, a predator who understands the heart of prey, a man who takes lives but has somehow allowed his heart to save one in the process, doesn’t recognize his own life anymore as he rushes to N Tower’s service elevator with a blind man on his back.

Predators don’t get nearly enough credit, and Taekwoon’s never felt that sentiment more than in this moment as he dumps Hakyeon off his back and onto the floor. He’s just carried him down _thirteen flights_ , and he’s fit -he has to be, sometimes fear makes targets run really fast- but he’s not _Hercules_. Hakyeon rises to his feet, feeling around on the wall for the elevator button as Taekwoon leans against its doors, trying to quiet his panting.

“You’re heavier than you look,” Taekwoon says through laboured breaths, because that man may look like he doesn’t weigh much, but Taekwoon’s willing to bet that an entire family of elephants resides in his liver.

Hakyeon smirks -is that just his resting face? A perpetual smirk?- and leans against the wall as they listen to the elevator climb up to meet them. “Are you trying to offend me?”

Taekwoon sputters again, why can he never say the right thing around Hakyeon, _what the fuck is wrong with him_ -

“No, I just mean like, you look really thin- well, not that thin, you look healthy, I just meant I didn’t expect for you to be, um, fit? Not to say that the blind can’t work out, because of course you can, you don’t need to _see_ at the gym- well, maybe for some things-”

Hakyeon cuts him off with a laugh, which is good, because Taekwoon was about to run back up the stairs and fling himself off the roof. Hakyeon seems to enjoy letting him talk himself into the ground, foot shoving itself further and further down his throat.

Taekwoon’sthe best sniper in Seoul,goddamnnit, he's _cool-_ so why can’t he remember that around Hakyeon? It’s like his thoughts are a game of fifty-two pick up, the cards are strewn everywhere and his hands are struggling to pick up the pieces and string them together into something coherent.

“I dance,” Hakyeon says, grinning. “I was a dancer before I went blind, and I’ll be one after. I can’t really imagine doing anything else.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Taekwoon says, because it is.

“Thanks,” says Hakyeon, and there’s a small, genuine smile on his lips. The elevator suddenly dings, doors springing open and they step inside, quieting as the doors slide shut.

It’s silent, and Taekwoon wishes he had something to fiddle with to make this less awkward. He pulls out his phone, but all three (3) of his friends have yet to text him today, Sanghyuk excluded. He busies himself with scrolling through his litany of messages, most of which include things like _FUCK U, FUCKWOON_ and _REPLY RIGHT NOW OR ILL CUT OFF UR DICK. YOULL NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN._ Taekwoon bites back a snicker.

“So, when are you gonna admit that I was right?” Hakyeon’s looking at him in that way again, and even though his eyes are closed, the corners are crinkling. He looks like his eyes would be sparkling if they were open, like the surface of the Han on a pale afternoon, and Taekwoon looks like the biggest loser ever for thinking that. _You’re a sniper, not a poet, Jung Idiot_.

“You’re not right, you’re just less wrong,” Taekwoon sniffs, swiping a finger across his phone.

“Are you kidding me? Cha Hakyeon of Changwon is always right,” Hakyeon says, seemingly affronted at Taekwoon’s clear lack of acknowledgement of this. “I was right earlier, and I’ll be right about this too.”

“And what is Cha Hakyeon going to be right about, exactly?”

Hakyeon grins, and he shines. “That this is gonna be one hell of a ride.”

Taekwoon doesn’t want to confirm or deny this, but inside, he finds himself agreeing. A blind guy and a too-soft sniper chasing three hundred million dollars across Seoul? Stranger things have happened.

Except they really haven’t. They arrive at the ground floor, doors sliding open, and Taekwoon pulls Hakyeon into the people crowding around the lobby of the Tower, because there’s no time to waste.

“Come on, hotshot, let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> also- comments are always greatly, greatly appreciated. they're like christmas presents - none are too small and they all mean a great deal to me.


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